Dovahkiin Triumphant
by MadCapMunchkin
Summary: The Dovahkiin is a hero...right? He saved us from Alduin and brought peace to the land of Skyrim...right? Take a little trip into a world made much darker by the Prisoner who escaped execution at Helgen, and you'll find that being a Hero doesn't make one heroic...
1. The Breaking of the Thalmor

**Chapter One**  
The Breaking of the Thalmor

The Thalmor had long been a pestilence upon Skyrim, ever since the Concordat had been signed. Now, this was no longer the case. As the Imperials had surrendered at Solitude a year early, so now would the Thalmor be on their knees begging for their lives. The two full companies of Stormcloak soldiers had seen to that, having marched from Solitude and up the mountains at the behest of their new King. They were the best of the best at Ulfric's command. No force on Tamriel or in Aetherius would hinder them, certainly not some holier than thou Altmer.

And certainly not with who led them into battle now, as he had in Solitude.

"Kill them all…" The man wearing a mask of brown gold could be easily heard from beneath it, speaking to his lieutenant, a hulking Nord dressed in the furs and leathers of his rank, and a wicked battle axe with more notches than most men could count – each one a fallen Imperial or Thalmor. Tonight, all knew, many more would join the counting of Galmar Stone-Fist. "But leave _her_ to me."

"You heard him lads!" Galmar's powerful voice roared out as the soldiers made their approach. "Leave the elf bitch alive! The rest, kill them all!" Beneath the mask he wore, the man smirked as the Stormcloaks made their charge up at the walls of the Thalmor Embassy, the last bastion of their power within the land of the Nords. By the terms of the Empire's surrender, the Thalmor were to also have vacated the country.

It seemed that the High Elves had other plans. How unfortunate for them.

"Bring up the battering rams!" Galmar roared out as several troops scrounged to the back of the group to retrieve the weapons of which he spoke. The first wave of Thalmor had reached their walls, several spellcasters and archers preparing to reign down vengeance upon the Stormcloaks. Following suite, several Stormcloak archers came forward and began to counter the moves of their counterparts upon the walls, providing cover as other soldiers in groups of four began to take up the battering rams that Galmar had called for.

"There is no need, Galmar…" The man in the golden mask spoke barely above a whisper. The Nord turned to him with a puzzled expression as he moved forward, stepping across the snowy terrain, his hand clutching the hilt of the curved blade that rested in a sheath at his hip. The Thalmor on the wall and the Stormcloaks continued to fight regardless, though some on the wall had begun to take notice of the man in ebony armor and a mask of gold approaching the front gate.

"**FUS RO DAH!**"

A wave of force slammed into the metal of the gate, sending it flying off its hinges and out of the arch it had blocked almost as if it had never been secured at all. Two Thalmor unfortunate enough to get caught in the path were slammed against the far wall and were either dead or too injured to carry on. It was then that the figure in black and gold stepped forward into the courtyard, the two companies of Stormcloaks flooding in behind him as they met the Thalmor in full force.

The man's blade was pulled from its sheath with an impossible speed, lightning cackling around its blade as he sliced his way through the first soldier unfortunate enough to try and impede his progress. The Thalmor now on the walls were fewer and fewer. For every Stormcloak they slew, three of their own number seemed to take the fall with them.

"Get the damned elves, lads!" Galmar roared as his mighty axe's blade slammed into the side of a Thalmor soldier, nearly cleaving the fool elf in twain. Pulling back, the next slice sent the head flying right off of the elf's head, the body collapsing to the ground as his crimson trails of blood dropped from his wounds to color the snow. Without even stopping, Galmar charged into the next fool who dared to come close enough.

And that was minor leagues compared to the terror in ebony that walked across the courtyard. The figure literally could not be stopped. The battle rage around him, but he was completely at peace, dominating the field as he seemed to just walk through so many enemies. His blade was dripping with Thalmor blood, the stark red making and interesting contrast to the blue-white lightning that cackled around its length. His other hand was raised as a soldier came too close. With a speed that someone in armor as heavy as his should not have had, he swung around the elf and secured him with the blade to his neck, the hand pressing right into his head as a gale of flame erupted from it.

The Thalmor fell to the ground, having been roasted alive, his helmet fused by the extreme heat to his now lifeless head. The man with the curved blade, however, had nothing but smoke trails coming off of him, his own enchantments having made the fire as harmless as a child to him. With a smirk that could not be seen beneath his ornate mask, the man immediately turned before the burned Thalmor had hit the ground and took on the next challenge.

"They're retreating!" One of the Stormcloaks called.

"They've got nowhere to run." The man in black spoke barely above a whisper. "**FAAS RU MAAR**!" A blast of red energy came forth from his Voice alone, the nearest retreating Thalmor turning tail and running for their lives with no regard for any lives but their own. "Run! Run!" He called out to the Thalmor, laughing as he charged forward, his blade extending as he moved forward, cutting through one of the fleeing elves as he advanced into the Embassy proper, his sword immediately plunging into another as the steps were now soaked in Thalmor blood. "Secure the area!" The man in black called back to Galmar. "Let none escape. Leave none alive." He added.

"You heard him, boys!" Galmar yelled as the Stormcloaks moved to do just that, striking down every elf they came across as they had their perimeter created around the place. There now remained only one way to get in or out of the place, and he knew that was where she would go.

He moved for the building with no small amount of haste.

* * *

"Emissary, _he_ is here."

"I know, you incompetent fool!" Elenwen hissed at her aide, a fool Bosmer who cowered a bit at her rage. "Get the path open. We must escape now."

"Why run, Emissary? You'll only die tired!" A voice called as the Bosmer attempting to open the trap door suddenly fumbled at the sound of the voice, shaking in fear.

"OUT OF MY WAY!" Elenwen sneered as she shoved him aside, forcing the trap door open herself. Before she could move for it, however, a voice crippled her where she stood.

"**IIZ SLEN NUS!**" The voice bellowed, and Elenwen suddenly found herself far colder than before. She tried to shudder in response to the feeling of cold that she felt literally through her entire body, but was unable to move herself. The cold enveloped her, and she fell through the open trapdoor, falling face first against the stone floor below. Pain ached through every extremity of her body, numbed only by the crippling cold that surrounded her now. Second later, her vision began to recover, and she saw the blades and the arrow tips of several Stormcloaks aimed right for her face.

"Easy, boys." The voice spoke as she finally saw him approach. The Devil himself, for all she knew. Now, she knew, seeing him here, that she should have killed him herself that day in Helgen, before he had done everything he could to circumvent and destroy them all.

"Y-You…" Elenwen spat, though even she could not help but shake in fear.

"Yes…" The man spoke from behind the golden mask he wore, the mask of a Dragon Priest he had fought and slain, no doubt. "Me."

"You are a fool!" Elenwen spat at him. "Helping to liberate Skyrim…driving out the Empire…you know the Thalmor will come for you." As the man leaned down slightly, coming face to face with the woman. It took everything in her not to flinch away in fear.

"If _you_ are an indication…then the Thalmor will pose no threat to me, nor to Skyrim, ever again." The man retorted, his voice barely above a whisper. "The Thalmor have lost. And it will not be the only loss, I assure you, Emissary."

"We will hunt you down!" Elenwen sneered, her last defiance coming from her, her head held high. "If you kill me…others will follow. Others will come. The Empire _and_ this pathetic kingdom of heretical dogs will be crushed beneath the Dominion!" For a moment, the man regarded her curiously, a silence followed and a measure of Elenwen's nerve returned to her. He had no retort, no response. Because he knew that she was right. In the end, the bastard would kneel before the Thalmor whether they wished to or not. But the High Elf learned quickly that that was not at all the reason for the pause. A moment later, the man's hands rose up, each touching a side of the mask he wore as he rose it from his head.

The blue-black skin and deep, ruby eyes of a Dunmer gazed back at her. The face of the Devil himself, burning into her very soul.

"Now…what gave you the idea that you would be killed?" The Dunmer laughed.

"W-What?" Elenwen visibly paled, unable to miss the twisted tone in the voice of her tormentor, she backed away slightly, her back touching the wall. There was no escape now.

"I happen to know a little girl who would just _love_ to meet you." The Dunmer's lips were twisted into a grin that even she found unnerving as he whispered to her. "Trust me, Elenwen…you have a great deal to look forward to in life." Elenwen was about to give her response when she felt sharp pains at both her wrists, and she howled in agony as she realized her wrists had been sliced clean through, her hands dropping onto the floor. Blood began to drop from the stubs her hands had once been as she howled, falling back against the wall.

The Dunmer waved a hand, a white energy coming from it as Elenwen felt the pain alleviate from her body, the wounds resealing and leaving the High Elf with nothing more than stubs where her hands had once been.

"Now _that's_ an improvement…" Her tormentor's face was a picture of glee. Elenwen looked down, shaking in horror as she quickly realized her pain was only just beginning. "Well, let's be fair. We can't have you casting any of your precious spells and getting away, can we?" He asked before he gestured to the Stormcloaks behind him, two of whom came forward to Elenwen and bound her arms and legs with leather.

"Damn you, Arawn!" Elenwen shook as she attempted to resist, but found herself unable to physically compete against the Nords that were binding her. "Damn you to the deepest pits of Oblivion!"

"Galmar…" As she was carried out, she heard Arawn speak to a tall man in furs she knew to be the right-hand man to Ulfric, who stepped forward to answer him.

"Yes, Commander?" Galmar Stone-Fist answered.

"Have her tongue cut out, as well." Arawn said.

"It will be done, Commander." Galmar gave a salute and Elenwen screamed as another strap of leather was secured around her eyes, blinding her. Her screams were muffled by a gag as the men holding her dragged her from the room.

**A/N: And that's the opening chapter of "Dovahkiin Triumphant". The idea for this came to me from some dialogue in-game from Paarthurnax about the Dragon instinct to dominate and control, and the thought occurred to me as to what would happen in the worst case scenario with this. Hence, the idea for this story was born. It's also probably the only Skyrim story I'm going to do – at least for the time being – seeing how the three **_**Fallout**_** fics I've been working on are all dead in the water at the time of writing (I might get back to them if I get the drive).**

**Anyway, Arawn is the Dovahkiin in this case, and it's clear that he had joined the Stormcloaks to free Skyrim from the Empire. But what else has he done? Reveals to be made in later chapters. And yes, I'm aware that trying to showcase that he's evil by having him kill off Thalmor doesn't show us anything – seeing as the Thalmor fall into **_**Complete Monster**_** territory – but trust me, there will be more to enforce that.**

**Anyway, read and review!**


	2. Suspicions

**Chapter Two**  
Suspicions

Solitude didn't seem like a city where a war had ended just a year ago. The battle between the Stormcloaks and the Empire had been glorious, not lengthy, and it showed in how quickly the recovery efforts had been. The place didn't look as though the blood of Imperial and Stormcloak alike flowed freely across the cobblestone paths. The ringing of steel…the calls of battle…and the howling of the dying…they were all still echoing strongly in Galmar's mind, the most recent being the death of the damned Thalmor that had foolishly chosen to remain in Skyrim.

Even the brutality of Solitude and the campaigns across Skyrim didn't measure up to it. The Empire had at least put up a fight. The Thalmor? It hadn't been a fight, it had been a slaughter. Even with the extra time they'd been given by Ulfric not wishing to enter another conflict so soon, the Thalmor had apparently been so conceited that they felt no need to fortify their position or to garner so many reinforcements. Even without the Dovahkiin, the glorious Hero of the Civil War, the Thalmor would have stood no chance, but it was his appearance on the scene that had truly driven the nail into the coffin.

Galmar still did not know what he thought of Arawn, this Dark Elf he'd once sent on a fool's errand that he expect him not to return from. But the man had proven himself time and again against the Imperial oppressors. Neugard, Snowhawk, Whiterun, Hraggstad, and finally Solitude, five battles that had decisively won the Stormcloaks control of all of the Holds and of Skyrim together. The Empire was gone, and now so were the Thalmor. Arawn had lent his steel, his magic, and even his Voice to their cause, and had he not, they might very well be fighting this battle even now. And now, after a time, the Jagged Crown rested upon Ulfric's brow, where it truly belonged instead of on that of some Imperial puppet.

Still, Galmar was not convinced. At least not entirely.

The man was a Dark Elf, for starters, and an outlander. It seemed far too convenient even now that someone of his…persuasion would join up with the cause of Ulfric Stormcloak, knowing just how pro-Nord that the new High King of Skyrim was. Ulfric had told him that his worries were unfounded, that Arawn was a friend and had proven himself time and again, but Galmar did not trust him, particularly for the very power that had won out against the likes of Alduin and the Thalmor.

The Voice.

It was the power of Akatosh, granted to mortals to battle the Dragons. Tiber Septim had wielded such a power, long ago. But now, this…Dark Elf was wielding that power. It wasn't right, it wasn't fitting. And certainly, it was close to blasphemy. But Galmar still could not reason why Father Akatosh would grant a power to such a…lesser thing. Great Talos had been no lesser thing as such a mer was. And yet, again, Arawn had proven himself time and again, just as Ulfric had said. The Empire and the Thalmor were out of Skyrim, their power broken, almost singlehandedly because of the Dragonborn.

He entered the Blue Palace, all of it over decorated in perfect taste. Galmar saw no need for such ornate spectacle, it served no practical purpose for defense or attack, but Ulfric saw it best and the High King would have as he commanded.

His eyes passed across to very distinctively not Nord figures, no doubt the emissaries from Hammerfell. Almost as soon as Ulfric had had the Jagged Crown placed upon his brow, emissaries from the desert land to the West had come to Skyrim, seeking terms for an alliance with the newly freed kingdom. It was a decision that Galmar had agreed with, for once. The Redguard people were known for producing hearty warriors, very much men after his own heart. Their defeat of the Aldmeri Dominion a little over twenty years ago had secured their full independence from both the damned Thalmor and the Empire. And now that Skyrim was truly free, the government of Hammerfell now sought an alliance with them.

Galmar saw this as the beginning of something new, a new Empire in the vein of Timber Septim's at the height of its power, with Ulfric as the Emperor of All Tamriel.

The lands of the Dark Elves taken back from the Argonians, the lands of the Bretons forced into surrender by the Empire's inability to reach it, and then the lands of the Thalmor. Galmar was positively giddy at the thought. The Thalmor finally being brought to justice for all they had done in the Great War. So many sons and daughters of Skyrim had been slain, and the consequences were even being felt some twenty years hence. Oh, they would pay, they would pay.

"General!" The voice of Ulfric greeted him as Galmar turned to see the High King approaching from the winding staircase along with the two emissaries from Hammerfell. "You have arrived."

"Aye, my liege." Galmar said, taking a knee before his Lord. "I have returned as ordered."

"I do think Vignar will be able to mind the troops for a time without you." Ulfric said as his general rose to his feet once more. "Besides, this day has given us cause for celebration."

"The anniversary of our victory, I know, my King." Galmar said.

"Not just that…" Ulfric said. "But…" His eyes were cast over to the leaving emissaries, who were being tended to by the staff of the Palace as they adjourned to their rooms. "We are close to reaching an alliance with Hammerfell."

"Things are going far better than we had believed." Galmar said.

"Indeed." Ulfric nodded, turning on his heel and heading back up the staircase. "With the Empire and the Thalmor now out of our borders, we can seek to solidify our position. We are still healing."

"We do not wish to appear weak."

"True…but seeking out an ally is not weakness." Ulfric said. "Nor…is having an ally come to you." Galmar sighed, knowing the meaning behind his King's word. "He has given us no reason to doubt him, Galmar."

"I know…I just…do not trust him." Galmar said. "He is an Elf…and worse, he has the tendencies of a mage of all things."

"He is a warrior. Enough to make even Ysgramor proud!"

"My King! You should not say-!"

"Times have changed, Galmar…Arawn has let me see through new eyes."

"You seem to care more for his word than that of your advisors, my King."

"Do not mistake me turning my ear to our great Hero." Ulfric's eyes narrowed on Galmar. "He is a warrior. He has proven himself time and time again on the fields of battle for our cause. If it were not for he, we might very well be still locked in battle against the Empire…or worse, our forces routed and Skyrim back in the hands of the Thalmor puppets."

"Not so long as I draw breath!" Galmar resisted the urge to spit in indignation at the mere thought of the Thalmor.

"But that would not be the case. You would have been cut apart, Galmar…and I could very well have been tortured by them once more." Ulfric pointed out. "Were it not for Arawn coming to us when he did."

"I still do not trust him." Galmar said with a tone of finality.

"Well _I_ do." Ulfric retorted, with the same tone shared by his General. "And I will hear no more discussion on this matter. Arawn has proven himself to be a friend and ally. A blade to raise against our enemies."

"Of course, my King."

"Good…then come, we have a ceremony to prepare for." Ulfric said, clapping Galmar's shoulder as he passed him. The old Nord General grimaced as he moved to follow his King. His tongue would not be so loosened, but his suspicions were not assuaged in the least.


End file.
